I'm Not Ill
by VinnyRoxyFrankie
Summary: “Steel yourself, then,” I murmured back, looking back towards the mirror and watching the conflicting emotions in his eyes, “I give up.”


**_I'm all prepared for this to go kablooey...but hey, it sure is original. You often see fanfics where the characters develop mental disorders and kill/maim themselves - I wanted to write a short fanfiction about a different kind of mental disease which is so common in society today. That and I really needed something to write when I was procrastinating about everything else. Not too sure how long this will go for - it really depends on how much time I have and how much inspiration. In any case, this isn't going to be a terribly long fic, unless I get totally carried away._**

**_Characters copyright to James Patterson. THIS story belongs to me._**

**_Anyway, I hope you enjoy! _ **

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I'M NOT ILL

**Chapter One – Stare**

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You're running after something  
That you'll never kill,  
If this is what you want  
Then fire at will.

_**- Thank You For The Venom -**_

_**- **My Chemical Romance **–**_

* * *

"You're too thin."

Fang's voice came from behind me, and I didn't even bother to turn around and face him. It took too much effort, trying to look into his eyes and find what he was really thinking. More than likely it was _'you disgust me'_. I stared into the mirror, confronting my reflection instead. It looked dead…but thin. Very thin. Skeletal, perhaps. And that was a good thing. But as I looked at myself I could see fat under my skin. _Ugh, _I thought.

"Don't start on me again, Fang," I said, brushing my lank hair over my shoulders. My voice was as dead as my expression – even my eyes were dull now, having lost that feral spark that they had once had. I crossed my arms, feeling, with a thrill of something which was a combination of bitter disgust and pleasure, my ribs jutting against the skin.

"Start?" Fang said, his voice biting. I could imagine that his dark eyes would be glacial, but I still refused to meet them. His reflection in the mirror showed over my shoulder, lit up by the faintest light from between the closed motel curtains. The room was a typical motel one, with the cream walls and abstract prints on the walls, the dirty mirror nailed to the wall and the lamps screwed to the table. It was dark, if only because of the drapes, pulled against the bright sun outside.

"Finish, then," I said back. Where once I would have spat, here I was barely audible.

"I don't know how you can still fly like that," he said, something in his voice I wasn't accustomed to hearing. It sounded like pain, or fear perhaps. I didn't answer, mainly because I didn't know what to say.

"Isn't this enough?" Fang's voice was a murmur, and he stepped up to stand beside me. I stared at my feet, toes curled against the rough carpet.

"It's never enough," I replied truthfully.

"It won't even be enough when it kills you," he said. His wings were visible, pushed through the slits in his black shirt, and they brushed against my shoulder. I felt a thrill of electricity, a line of fire seared along my feathers.

"Probably not," I said, keeping my voice dead nonchalant. Emphasis on the 'dead', that is. I tried not to think of the flock, tiptoeing around in the room next door, afraid of my anger or, more commonly, my silence.

"Max, don't do this," he said, his voice flattened to match mine, "if not for me, then for the others."

"I always was selfish, just a little bit. But I tried to keep it to myself when I was looking after the rest of you. Think of this as me exercising that selfishness," I said.

"That's not true," he snapped, "you know as well as I do that you don't have a selfish bone in your body."

"Really?" I asked, fishing for something that would sting him enough to back off, "what about on the beach? Did I think about anyone but myself then?"

"It's not the same," he protested, while knowing that it really was. I could remember vividly the blood, his rage.

"It _is_ the same," I answered.

"You were stressed out. Confused," Fang said, staring back at his own reflection as if he was trying to pull the truth he wanted out of himself – or at least tell a better lie.

"I'm not now?" I said, my voice barely changing from its monotone to ask the question.

"No," he said. I shook my head, stretching out my wings behind me and seeing the dirtiness of the feathers. It wasn't that I didn't wash much – the lack of vitamins in them had turned them into a disgusting mess, just like it had done to my hair. I was careful not to brush against Fang's wings.

"What do you want from me?" I asked, pain bleeding into my voice, just enough for him to hear it.

"I want you to go back to how you used to be," he snarled, "the person I used to know."

"I haven't changed," I bit, irritated by his suggestion that I was so different while knowing at the same time that I was.

"Try telling the younger kids that. Angel, Nudge, Gazzy. Do you remember them? They wouldn't believe you," he snapped back. I looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror without thinking. They weren't cold – they were on fire, burning up with rage and fear. My own washed-out reflection paled even more next to his dark, boiling presence. Slowly, ever so slowly, I turned to face him, his real face, ignoring the reflections in the mirror. His eyes were the same as they had appeared, and they looked aged. There were no fine lines, no wrinkles around them, but they looked sunken and ancient.

His hand moved slowly towards me, as though he didn't want to startle me. I watched its progress through the air, but I didn't react, even when I felt him touch me. His fingers traced the line of my collar bone, jutting out under my shirt, and then up my neck, and along my jaw. His hand was hot against my chilly skin. It took me a long moment to register his touch properly in my mind, but when it did I shrunk back. He withdrew his hand as though he had been scalded.

"Enough. Enough," he said, his eyes widening in the slightest, "you have to stop."

"I can't. If I could, I would have," I spat back, anger finally coming properly into my mind. There was a long moment of silence between us, hanging over our heads like a storm cloud. This time it was him avoiding my eyes.

"Do I disgust you?" I asked, careful not to allow any of the fear in my head into my words, "are you afraid of me because of who I am?"

"No. No, Max," he replied, and I could almost believe him. Almost, but not quite. "Otherwise I wouldn't still be here."

"I never pictured you as the kind of person to run," I said, taunting, niggling him in the slightest.

"I never pictured you as the kind of person who would end up like _this_," he said, gesturing to my skeletal body as he said it.

"Well, get used to it. Because I'm going to be like this now for however long I last," I said harshly, "not too long, I'm sure."

He drew away from me for the slightest moment, and then stepped back. He wrenched the curtains across so hard that he partially tore it from the rail. A stream of sunlight pooled onto the ground at my feet, and I blinked rapidly to keep it at bay. Tears pooled in my eyes, and not just because of the sudden light. Fang was back at my side, brooding and dark at my shoulder. I looked like a tiny, frail angel with my wings outstretched, and he resembled a great, deep presence which I couldn't quite name. I couldn't have called him an angel, but he was like…a protector. A guardian.

A single tear rolled down my check, sparkling softly in the light. Fang wiped it away with his thumb, gentle despite his anger. I captured his gaze for a long moment, as he and I both thought.

"Look after them," I said, and he knew who I meant. He shook his head, refusing to believe my resignation.

"I won't lose you like this," he said, gritting his teeth.

"Steel yourself, then," I murmured back, looking back towards the mirror and watching the conflicting emotions in his eyes, "I give up."

"Who are you?" he asked, his eyes horrified. He turned on his heel, opening the door and then slamming it so forcefully behind him that the wall shuddered and a few waterfalls of plaster trickled to the floor. The sun caught them as they fell, streaming from the open curtain. I leant forward, touching my forehead to the cool glass. It hurt to think that I was causing Fang, and the others, so much distress, but I was too far gone to stop.

"I don't know," I murmured to my wasted reflection, eyes closed against the fierce light, "I just don't know."

* * *

My next visitor was someone I hadn't expected – Angel, without either Total or Celeste. Her little face was troubled, even more so than my own. I was sitting down on the bed, leaning against the wall and gradually slumping sideways. I felt tired – I always felt tired. Angel crept closer, as though she thought I was asleep and didn't dare to disturb me. As she came to the edge of the bed and stopped, I lifted up my heavy head and fixed her with my dull gaze.

"Hi, Max," she said, and her voice sounded as dull as mine did when I spoke. She kept her eyes fixed on the floor, staring mindlessly at the carpet as she thought.

"Hey, Angel," I replied, rubbing my face. My cheeks felt hollow, my eyes sunken. I wondered how long it had been since I had eaten anything, and how long I would last. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten – nor could I remember when I had started starving myself. I could barely remember _why _I had done this to start with, but when I thought about it, the memories came flooding back. My life running out of my control, being pushed from every possible angle, and me finally finding something that I could take control of – food.

"Max…" she said, and I suddenly wondered if Fang had put her up to this, "Fang's really worried about you. We all are."

"I know, Ange," I sighed, "how do you know that Fang's worried, exactly?"

"When he came out of your room before, he broke a bowl in half and ripped off the handle on the front door," she said matter-of-factly, as though it was something he commonly did. Of course, they were things we could all do, but it was rare that any of us, let alone Fang, would do it in anger.

"What was he thinking?" I asked, hardly wanting to know if he had been so angry that he had tried to rip the motel unit to shreds.

"He was angry, really angry – his thoughts were all red and black. And scared," she said, daring to look up at me before swiftly glancing back to her bare feet, "and he doesn't want you to die."

I didn't say anything to that. I could hear the quiver in Angel's voice, and I could feel the anger and confusion building in me once again. I badly wanted to just fly and fly forever, and if I couldn't fly then I would run or walk or _crawl. _Anything to get away.

"We should leave here soon, I think," I said, staring out the window. Angel was moving away from me slowly, towards the door, but she stopped when I spoke.

"Has the Voice said something to you?" she asked, sounding hopeful. I shook my head. The Voice hadn't had anything to say since I had started to starve. Perhaps it had found someone else to save the world. Max II, perhaps, who I hadn't seen since the explosion at Itex. Maybe Ari, who had been laying low since then as well.

"Okay," she said, and then disappeared out of the door, closing it softly behind herself. I let out a sigh, sinking back into my mind and gritting my teeth. Sure, maybe there was someone else about to save the world, and the Voice had let me off the hook. But I still felt like it had just given up on me. Mind you, since I had given up on myself, I couldn't say much. But I was accustomed to having the irritating and occasionally useful Voice at the back of my head, ready to burst forward at the most inconvenient of times. And now it was gone.

_Voice? _I thought, seeing if it would answer. I only heard silence in reply, and I sighed bitterly.

_As if it did me any good, _I tried to think without much success. _It never helped me. In fact, it made me like I am now to start with. It made me…ill. Is that the right word? Well, the others treat me like I'm ill. Except Fang, who treats me like I've gone insane, and the Voice, who doesn't say anything. Maybe I'm ill. Maybe I _am _crazy._

I shook my head, and thought dully, _but hey, I already was insane_.

_Oh, God. _

I felt like I was going to explode if I didn't move. Without thinking, I wrenched open the bedroom door, letting it hit the wall with a bang. I swept down the hallway towards the front door, passing the door to the lounge as I went. Iggy's head had snapped up when he had heard the bang, and I saw his quiet face become stormy and worried out of the corner of my eye as he saw me whip past. Angel was right about the door handle – not only had Fang broken it, he had also made a large hole in the door. I kicked it open and stomped out, making for the trees a little way from the motel. We – or Fang, more accurately – had picked the motel because it was on the edge of a small town, and very easy to escape. It took me mere moments to get to the edges of the trees, and from there I flew upwards into the blue sky.

After a few moments of labouring as I fought to get up into the sky, I was caught up by an air current and swept upwards. The sun was hot on my back, warming my feathers and making me feels as thought I had spent days and days in the darkened room. Which, come to think of it, I had. I tried to forget problems like that as I flew swiftly through the air, but it wasn't quite that easy. I was hoping that I didn't run into Fang and have him argue with me again – he was worried, and rightly so, that one day I wouldn't be able to fly any further. If I was in the air, then I would fall without someone to catch me. Not that I really cared anymore – in fact, I relished the thought of just falling to my death.

I kept flying, but I tired rapidly. When I finally decided that I wouldn't be able to make it back if I went any further, I flew in a large arc and began to fly back towards the motel and the flock. The sun was in my eyes for a moment, almost blinding me. I blinked and shaded my eyes, making sure that I kept going the right way – and nearly flew straight into a large, furry, _flying _animal which snarled as I whipped past it and reached out for me with huge, clawed hands. _Erasers._

My brain went into overdrive as I instantly struck out and carried on. I wheeled back around, moving as fast as I could; the Erasers had already turned around, and were coming straight for me. Ten of them against one of me – not quite the odds I really liked. Ari was at their head, snarling and spitting viciously. I was interested to see him stop dead when he saw me again, hanging in midair. Shock registered in his eyes as he looked me from head to toe, catching sight of every protruding bone on the way down.

"Max?" he asked, his voice surprised and alarmed, "you're…thin."

"No way, Sherlock," I spat back, trying to summon up that anger that I had once felt whenever I had seen Ari. It was reluctant to come, and so was my courage. I shook my head and realised that I would never survive a battle against ten massive mutant wolf-men, and that I may as well turn tail and run. And then I remembered, of course, that I would have quite liked to die, or I had a few minutes ago. That wasn't easily summoned up either, and I followed to instinct – which was screaming _fly!_ And so I did – whirling around in the air, I took off and hoped that it would take a few moments for them to think to follow.

I tried to remember how to fly fast, but I couldn't seem to remember how. As I tried to push myself, I found that I almost seemed to be going _slower_ than I had been going before. Or was that just my imagination?

No, it seemed not. My body was becoming heavy, as though it weighed a million tonnes. It reminded me of the story of the two men, one young and one old, who had made wings from feathers and wax to escape prison. The young man was so excited that he then tried to fly up to sun – the wax on his wings began to melt, and he fell down to earth and was killed. I felt like my wings were falling to pieces, and my concrete body was dragging me towards the ground. My head felt light – it was then that I knew that I was definitely falling.

I prayed for a quick death as the wheeling world turned to wet paint running down my eyelids. Darkness enclosed me as I fell towards the ground, plummeting and plummeting forever.

_I'm sorry, _I thought as I prepared to die.

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_**Er, sorry guys. I had those scenes in my head for the longest time, and I just needed to get them out, you know! Okay, I hope you vaguely enjoyed that, and keep an eye out for the next chapter - and review! Feedback is good for me, for the most part, but please make it constructive. **_

_**Review NOW, please! **_

**_-Aden Ameryn_**


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